


Another Specter Haunts These Halls

by Letterhead



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate 6th year, Alternate Universe, F/M, Madness, Slower than your average slow burn, Spell Damaged Severus, Time Travel, Time Turner (Harry Potter), mentions of scuicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-07-29 02:36:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20074738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Letterhead/pseuds/Letterhead
Summary: A spell-damaged and mad Headmaster Snape attempts to take his own life. Instead, he finds a pathway to the past, an opportunity to save his former self and to prevent events yet to unfold.





	1. A Time to Die and a Time to Live

An inconsequential looking vial was held between Headmaster Snape's pale fingers. The dark blue liquid swirled around inside as he pondered its usefulness that night. 

An entire greenhouse of Belladonna had been reduced for over half a week into this single spoonful of death. It coyly begged him to release it from its crystal prison, let a drop sink into his glass of Bordeaux. 

It would be so comforting to finally die, finally stop feeling. 

Occlumency could only help so much, he'd found. There were some feelings you couldn't just _stop_ feeling. 

Grief was one. It was bone-deep and all-consuming. It came to bed with you at night and tucked you in tightly, then woke with you in the morning, waiting just a second after your awareness to recapture you. You'd think, oh good, it's finally gone, but it hadn't gone at all -

It was implacable. 

The other was shame. It simmered under every act of anger and fear, begging you to unleash yourself with heartless abandon. The cruel mistress of one's rage and one's self-hatred. 

Severus had felt both just that morning, the task of leading the staff meeting had been an arduous one. 

Poppy hadn't looked at him once. She had once upon a time tended to his wounds, bathed him in the motherly love he so wished for his entire childhood. And now, all he felt was grief, that the kind and loving woman was so resigned against him.

Minerva hadn't let his gaze go. She let her malice rise to the surface of every interaction they had, and every word that came from her thick Scottish brogue held a dual meaning. She might have been saying something regarding understaffing during holidays but what she really meant to impart was that he was a worthless traitor not even worth being cleaned off the sole of her boot. Severus felt ashamed, pinned by the woman's once-friendly eyes. They had shared a bottle of scotch on more than one occasion, throwing it back and mirthfully recounting Headmaster Dumbledore's oddities. Oh, how nightmarish that all seemed now that the man was cold and buried just outside the walls of the castle, six feet under the soil and withering to dust as the earth reclaimed him.

Existence was horrifying. He'd promised to protect Lily's son, however, as it seemed he was doing a piss poor job of it. Word was, from Headmaster Black's portrait no less, that the children were malnourished and tearing themselves to tatters over the Horcruxes. Subsisting off foraged mushrooms and their last vestiges of hope. It was unpardonable that they should live like such, especially since Potter would die soon enough, never know a life any better. A lamb to slaughter and an orphan to boot, how horrid. 

Severus knew he had a job to do, but he often pondered the delicate proposition that seemed to appear from the darkened nowhere inside his mind. He would be standing by the window in his office, looking out over the grounds and think - I could open the window, just so, and propel myself out. I would leave my wand on the desk and let the height make the decision for me. The thought tempted him constantly, and now he'd taken to avoiding that particular window altogether. 

But here he sat, eying the poison he himself had made with a particularly manic interest that only came with years of slowly building insanity. Why had he made it? Simple - it was an exercise in loathing. You prepare your bed at night to lie in it and dig your grave to do the same.

_Don't forget Lily's eyes, Severus. Her son has those eyes. _

"Yes, I bloody well know he does, Albus," Severus replied nervously. Glancing up at the portrait just settled the claim to madness deeper, for the Headmaster was fully asleep in frame. 

"How could I forget?" 

He uncorked the vial.

If one was to be standing just outside the Headmaster's office they might hear a sputtering, then a crack of glass and a heavy thud. Inside, Severus lie on the floor, floral-scented foam bleeding from his lips as the life seeped from his body and into the old flagstones.

It was time. He'd finally stopped being a coward and taken the cowards way out. His vision was blurring horribly, but with a minute amount of clarity, he could see a painful golden glint from under the old mahogany desk. It lay there, like he was, unmoving and useless. 

But it sparked a frisson of panic in him that had him desperately burbling. 

"A-Accio bezoar!"

The stone flew into his hand and nearly never went into his mouth. It was a struggle, but he managed to shove the thing down into his throat.

So, a coward after all, it seemed. Pity.

His shaking fingers reached out for the precious item gleaming just out of view from anyone who wasn't writhing on the floor dying, and as it revealed itself, all golden and shimmery in the firelight to his watery gaze, he couldn't help the pained gasp that escaped him.

It was a time turner, just pleading to be spun. 

-

He should have waited to use the thing, should have waited until the strange haze from his aborted poisoning had fizzled away, but he hadn't. It had been a panicked and dizzied flick that had the time turner spinning out of control, yanking his body in all kinds of directions until it felt like each layer of his skin was coming free from his bones and he would heave his soul out onto the floor in a puddle of still-tainted bile. 

Severus landed in a heap on the Headmaster's carpet once again, sputtering and wheezing in pain as he tried to collect himself. Each of his ribs felt bruised and broken, but none were, he was simply mentally damaged by the ordeal. 

Was he back in time or forward? How far? Who could tell, even! Severus had never really researched the devices all that much, just idle curiosity about them in his fourth year of schooling, so how far could they actually take someone? Someone who had idiotically spun it until it had shimmered and spat him out feeling half dead and half far, far too alive. 

"Severus, m'boy?" he heard from above him, the shadow of the currently still breathing Headmaster eclipsing his form. It made Severus laugh, the kind voice of his once mentor, laugh until he coughed up blood onto the rug and his eyes were too watery to see straight.

Severus felt his body levitate, and he was placed into a chair by the fire. 

"Your master must have had you at the end of his wand, hmm?" Albus asked thoughtfully, pouring them both small glasses of brandy. Severus took the glass in his violently trembling hands and giggled down at it until he was simply gasping like a fool. The brandy would no doubt make him retch, his stomach lining must be shot to pieces from the poison he'd imbibed.

Severus took a heartening sip. 

"So tell me, m'boy," Albus began softly, lowering himself into the chair beside Severus, looking every bit his old age. "What news do you have? It was a surprise to find you in my office, I hadn't thought you'd be summoned tonight. Was it a night of any significance?" 

"N-no significance," Severus wheezed, his wide and watery eyes dancing around the office until he felt his head was spinning. All the baubles and trinkets of the old man's collection were still there, which was startling to see considering Severus had just tossed them all out into the rubbish recently. It was night, but what year was it? Obviously he'd gone back, but how bloody far? 

On the desk sat the Gaunt ring, the one that had begun his descent, looking intact and very damning. Severus could almost feel tendrils of dark magic sweeping out and caressing his mind, pulling him out of his chair and dragging him across the floor for a sweet and blackened embrace. All he could see in his head was withering flesh and blinding green light. His soul seemed to twitch.

"Horcrux..." Severus muttered, blinking his eyes rapidly to make the ring disappear from his vision. 

"Voldemort spoke of them?" Albus asked, sitting forward in his chair with an air of interest. "Tell me."

"That ring- he mentioned that ring," Severus lied, feeling the deception building on his tongue and convalescing into a being of its own. "He was looking for it, said it was a part of him. You haven't..." Severus flicked his eyes to the Headmaster's hands, checking them for blackened skin and curse damage but finding only wrinkles. "Don't put it on, I believe it's ladened with a horridly powerful death curse." 

Albus' eyes widened at that pronouncement, the lines on his face giving his expression of disbelief a bit of drama. "Indeed? I am glad you warned me, then. It is..." Albus sighed and sat back in his seat, but his eyes were glued to the sight of that accursed ring. "It is an object of extreme power; it might have been too coaxing for even I to ignore the call." 

That made Severus drop his brandy, spilling it over the hearth as he gasped for breath and laughed. Gods, he was fully lost to himself! Completely mental! 

"Severus, you seem to have had a bit of spell damage, were you put under Cruciatus? Perhaps you should see Poppy." 

"No!" Severus replied with intense desperation, his maddened mirth evaporating. He could not, could not expose himself to more people. If he was in the time and place he believed, that would mean his other self was skulking around. What was he to do? 

"No, I shall just go to my quarters, I will be..." he trailed off, watching the flickering firelight cast shadows into the room and onto the portraits, portraits that had sneered at him and bid him end his life, end the life of the most hated Hogwarts headmaster in history. Or so he'd believed, it was perhaps just a figment of his delusions that they'd said anything about him at all.

"I will be fine, Headmaster," Severus lied once more. 


	2. Consorting With Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione comes face to face with Severus of the future, but it does not go quite well.

The corridors felt dark, felt oppressive like a needy mother looking to grasp him and hold him, but Severus did not wish to be held. He had slunk through the darkness and into a small alcove, desperately thinking on his predicament.

It was 1996, a year earlier, and things were quickly spiraling out of his control. His slightly younger and less soul-tattered self was down in the dungeons, likely falling into a bottle and feeling miserable for himself, so what was he to do? It seemed his only recourse was to haunt himself essentially and try his hat at a little good-deedery. Make things a little less horrid on himself, perhaps? Squirrel that younger man away and take the brunt of the damage once again? But how could he possibly change things for the better when he himself knew the outcome already. It would not work, would it? In a years time, that Severus would be a bold-faced murderer, a fully cast out former member of the Order, a Death Eater scum of the lowest caliber.

Severus heard a breath, a gasp, and looked up from his shadow to see someone he hadn't thought he'd see ever again. Her hair was so frazzled and wild, like a lion's mane, and her eyes were wide little saucers of fear and dark amber. Severus ran to her and looked her over as a fearful and unnecessary panic consumed him.

"Miss Granger?" he uttered confusedly, his mind lagging behind his situation rather far. Why was she not with the two boys? Was the war coming to the castle that quickly? He hadn't even delivered them the bloody sword.

He grasped her shoulders a bit awkwardly, turning her this way and that.

"And you appear within good health and to be acceptably nourished."

Granger blinked owlishly, body stiffened from the contact.

"Sir, are you alright?" she whispered, looking at him and then about the corridor. "Am I in trouble?"

"No, indeed. Why should you be?" he asked with a frown. It was then that reality settled in, and clarity unfogged the window of his tattered mind. Hermione Granger of this time was not out in the woods, scrounging for scraps and being both caretaker and moral compass for the Boy Who Lived just to die, no, she was just a student.

"Because sir, it's after curfew..." she grimaced. Oh, but he cared not for such things now. Curfew and rules and house points, nothing mattered so much anymore.

"Ah, yes. Curfew," he murmured, gazing down at her. His eyes felt like they were shaking in his skull as he looked at her neat little uniform, at her blessedly unblemished arms. The Carrows were not yet here to torture and lash the impure blooded students. He did not yet have to watch from the head table as less and less of them even came to eat their meals, from the chair he'd taken with a flick of green and hatred. Did that mean he could set aside his guilt, as the deeds had not been done? No, no indeed, he mustn't let the guilt slip away. It was such a dear, intimate friend after all these years.

"Sir?" Miss Granger asked again, her timidity giving way to a curious scrunch of her brows. "Are you going to... punish me, or something?"

He laughed at that, deep from his chest and it felt as if his ribs might come out his mouth.

"Are you particularly looking to be punished, Miss Granger? Don't you feel this year, this war has been punishment enough?" he replied. His mirth did not last longer than a moment and Miss Granger seemed absolutely taken by his pronouncement, enough so that he was beginning to suspect they had been damning or telling. What had he just said? He honestly couldn't remember. Oh dear.

"Y-you're absolutely right, sir..." she agreed uneasily, looking down to her shoes. Maybe she thought he was trying to scare her, and maybe he had been. It was an old habit, frightening the fear into his pupils, but he didn't like the taste of fear any longer. It lingered on his tongue until he felt the need to yank it out, lest he taste it again. He wanted to taste other things, like a good cup of tea and some toast with black currant jam. Speaking of, when was last he ate?

"Please, return to the Tower. Be watchful on your way there," he warned her, smiling a bit manically. "You never know who might be out lurking in the halls."

"Of course, sir. Uhh... thank you." And then Miss Granger was gone, retreating to her warm and safe bed, running away from the wild bat she'd stumbled upon. What a poor girl. Spooked her, no doubt.

And where would he sleep, hmm? Severus peered about and checked the old stone walls for hidden doorways, old classrooms that had been shut up for one reason or another. After a few feet of wall and a tapestry or two, he found one and eased himself in, the castle allowing the intrusion for he was the Headmaster, or a Headmaster of sorts.

The classroom was bare excepting for cobwebs and a dilapidated desk in a corner. With a foolish wave of his wand, he set the desk into a small bed, equally as dingy, for what creature such as he necessitated creature comforts. It would need to do; he could sleep nowhere else really. Tomorrow, he would begin the arduous task of sussing out what to do in this bit of past he'd been granted, but for now, he needed the sleep. He hadn't slept properly in weeks and the poison still remaining in his system was starting to make his spinal cord _itch_.

"Nox," Severus murmured, then fell into a fit on the lumpy bed as he realized his wand hadn't been lit at all.

-

It had seemed like a dream, perhaps a nightmare, and when Hermione had woken up she'd been sure it had been exactly that. Professor Snape in the corridors, standing about and looking crazed and very peculiar. She'd been terrified at first, certain she would be soon hanging from her thumbs in detention with Filch or worse, but he'd only laughed, acted so strange. He'd looked wild almost, his robes greyish and stained with what looked like wine, and his eyes had been so jittery and frightening!

Breakfast assured her it _had_ been a weird dream. Her surly professor sat at the high table, his black collar just as high and buttoned up as it ought to be. He ate his customary brown bread toast methodically, using his dark eyes as weapons to keep the students in line. Hermione didn't feel the dream worth repeating to Harry or Ron, Harry especially. He was becoming so paranoid lately, and the last thing she needed to do was make things worse with her imagination.

Her imagination was running wild, it seemed, for all day things kept happening as to scare her. When they'd all gone down to the dungeons, prepared to suffer Professor Slughorn and his nattering, she'd been sure she'd heard someone in the storeroom. When Hermione had gone in, it had looked pilfered through! So many things had been missing as to spin her brain around, she couldn't make sense of it.

Then she'd seen Professor Snape in the halls, sliding from an alcove to a door she'd never seen before. Hermione placed it out of her mind as him being his generally enigmatic self, until she rounded the corner and saw him again. Was his hair shorter? Had he changed his robes? What was going on?

During a fifteen-minute gap between Charms and Transfiguration, Ron was up her back with complaints.

"Just focus on your book and read Ron!" she chided him, turning her page. The two of them were sitting in one of the little courtyards. The weather wasn't all too bad with a good warming charm.

"I can't focus, 'Mione, I'm bloody starving," he claimed, rubbing his stomach for effect.

"You must be having a laugh, you cannot possibly be hungry," she replied tartly. He was always trying to beg off studying, even though he knew it was one of her favorite ways to pass the time.

Just then, his stomach rumbled very violently, and he had such a pleased expression about it too. Oh...!

"Fine, I'll go get us something from the kitchens and come back. Don't stop reading!" Hermione then packed up her things and set down to the kitchens to find him a little nibble, anything to get him to perhaps put a little more effort into his studies. Ron made bold claims about becoming an Auror later on, but if he didn't shape up he wouldn't be fit to scrub the dirty tankards at the Leaky. His grades were, well, what was worse than abysmal?

That's when her imagination jumped, startled and ran away claiming innocence. Professor Snape was by the open doorway to the kitchen, speaking with a frightened little elf in a low voice. His robes were quite grey looking, and there, there was that oddly reddish stain on the front. Wine… or blood.

"Yes, just my usual breakfast Kippy, that'd do just fine. I didn't manage to nab anything for breakfast at all, I'm quite famished," he said to the elf. What in the world? She'd seen him at breakfast with her own two eyes, what was going on? Was that even...? She studied him, the lines of his face, the strange robes, his hair which was actually quite long and unkempt. Was that even the professor?

She stormed over to the man, the stranger, her heels clicking harshly against the stone floor until she was squarely within his space. Until she was so close she could see very decidedly that although he looked quite a lot like Severus Snape, he could not possibly be her professor. Professor Snape wasn’t the most handsome or stylish man, but he was absolutely fastidious with his appearance. This man… well, he was scraggly and rumpled!

"Who are you?" she demanded to know, brandishing her wand from her sleeve. The man stepped back from her, with a very unsettling and queer smile, and simply shook his head.

"I am Severus Snape, obviously," he claimed in a familiarly smoky voice, one that seemed to mock the conclusion she'd very quickly jumped to. Hermione felt her resolve wilting, but she could not abandon her suspicion. He might be Polyjuiced or glamoured, and if he was... well, who knew who he could be! The incident in fourth year with Mad-Eye Moody still had her on edge.

"You're either an imposter or Neville's boggart, but you're certainly not Professor Snape!" Hermione accused, frowning deeply when he did nothing, not even so much as react to her claim. Wouldn't her actual professor be radioactive with anger by now? Why was this person so calm? It only served to prove that he was not Severus Snape at all.

"Why would you assert such?" the man asked quietly, raising his brows with an obnoxiously gentle curiosity.

"Because I just saw him, downstairs at breakfast!"

"Yes, I was present."

"You just told that elf you hadn't been!" she nearly cried. "What did you eat, then?"

"What a trivial question," he intoned lazily, and then the little elf came back, holding a small plate of brown bread toast with black currant jam.

"Here you are, Headmaster," the elf said, dipping into a bow. The man took the plate, and with a dismissive nod, the elf vanished and took the doors to the kitchens with it.

"H-headmaster? Preposterous!" Hermione gasped. What the bloody hell was going on? Was she still dreaming? _Wake up, Hermione, wake up!_

"No, girl, think," he said around a very messy mouthful of toast. "Improbable is the word you're searching for. Quite improbable." The man took another exceedingly messy bite of his meal, actually moaning at the taste. What a show, Hermione felt her cheeks heat.

Gods, she did not need to hear that kind of voice from a man who looked like her professor.

"But I think you know a little about improbable, Miss Granger," he finally said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve with uncouth carelessness. He vanished the plate, then tugged at a little gold cord around his neck. Slowly, like a snake slithering from a crack in the stone, the man pulled forth the last thing Hermione had ever expected to see again. A time turner, _her_ time turner.

"So, I'm very glad I've found you again, for I've many, many questions," said the imposter, or time traveler, or whatever in the world he was.

Hermione felt herself sway, but in fact, it was the man that seemed to wobble on his feet and fall a bit until he hit the wall behind him.

Hermione rushed to support his elbow without thought. God, why was she such a hero? She still didn't know who this was!

"Oh, I am woozy still. Bloody hell, I think I'm actually a bit-" He hiccupped, then giggled most oddly. "I think I'm a bit high from the residuals."

"H-high?!" Hermione muttered with utter disbelief. This Snape imposter or Snape from out of time was saying he was... on drugs?

This was far too wild to be real!

"Wake up, Hermione!" And she gave herself a small, fortifying slap on the cheek. The man seemed to find that horribly amusing and he slapped his own face in kind.

"Why did we do that, Miss Granger?" he asked, and bloody hell, how was she to know!

"I think this is one of the first times I've actually truly disliked magic," she muttered, staring at him with wide eyes.

"You'll find with age, Miss Granger, that being a witch or wizard is not all it's cracked up to be," he explained cryptically, and then all of a sudden he went limp and slumped down the wall like he'd been a puppet whose strings had been cut.

"Oh, oh dear," Hermione said to herself, her arms full of the man. What was she to do with this?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit long between updates, and I am sorry for that. This wonderful story is near the bottom of my practically endless laundry list of projects. 
> 
> Until next time - LH


	3. A Seraph with Page Protectors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus and Hermione come to an agreement, meanwhile, someone sees something they very much wish they hadn't.

Severus came to in a dark room, a closet of a room almost, full of dusty old coats and hats and an old chaise lounge that had quite a few tears in the upholstery. 

A wand was above his head, pointed between his eyes, and it delighted him to see he was at the end of Miss Granger's wand again. 

"The first sixth year to best me in a duel, no doubt," he murmured to her, but it didn't seem to make her laugh. Oh no, she was positively cross looking, a little crease between her brow as she looked at him. He'd made her mad, then? 

"So, you've found I'm not using a glamour, I take it?" he asked, struggling to sit up. 

"And you're not Polyjuiced," she agreed, frowning just a little more. She'd sat with him that long? “I’m just being cautious.” Amusing that she felt the need to justify herself.

"How did you get out of your classes, Miss Granger? It would have been a shock to any professor for you to have gone tardy,” he asked conversationally.

"I..." Miss Granger chewed on her lip. "I begged off, monthly pain." 

At his look of incredulity, she scowled. 

"Well, I didn't like lying to Professor McGonagall but I had to! I had to deal with..." She waved her hands around wildly in his direction. "You, you strange man!" 

"What an accurate description, Miss Granger. Fifty points to Gryffindor," he laughed, although it was clear she hadn't been joking. 

"Ooh, that's enough out of you! I'm this close to putting you under a Silencio." 

"But I've just woken back up, I haven't even said much yet," he reminded her, watching in fascination as her hair seemed to spark and ignite with little flecks of angry magic. 

"Because you're exasperating me, whoever the hell you are!" 

"That can't be too unusual for you, you always seemed to be in a constant state of exasperation from what I could gather," he replied with a smirk. That had her waving her wand, and he felt his throat close with the force of her magic. 

He could dispel it just as easily without a word, he simply wouldn't because, well, he was having a bit of fun wasn't he? 

Miss Granger began to pace the small room, like a little angry lion confined to her cage. She was muttering to herself, trying to work it all out. 

"Found traces of blood and belladonna on the waistcoat, time turner, no glamour..." 

Severus released the spell she'd put on him after all.

"You'll suss it out, girl, you've got a brain, haven't you?" 

Miss Granger turned sharply on her heel and with a startled _eep_, spelled him silent once again. Bloody hell! 

Miss Granger began muttering again, too low for him to hear, then looked up into his face. She was pointing her wand, a bit accusatorially.

"Just tell me who you are and how you got that time turner!" she yelled and then blanched as she recalled he'd been Silencioed. The quiet stretched between them until Severus could stand it no longer.

Severus removed the spell again, this time sitting up a little more against the chaise. 

"I told you, you little wild thing, I am Severus Snape. Your _favorite_ professor," Severus said with a deep grin. 

"You are not even close to my favorite professor! Professor McGonagall is, of course!" Hermione replied angrily, apparently forgetting that she hadn't decided who he exactly was. 

"Oh, you have no need to fib to me, Miss Granger," he murmured, pinning her with a shrewd look. "I bet you hate how she waffles on the dunderheaded students, how she makes allowances for half-done projects, and how she rounds up her grades..." 

"Rounds up?!" she growled. "Are you serious?" 

"Oh yes, she does indeed round-up for the stragglers. She is very kind with her grading. I suspect that, although you are fond of Minerva, you actually prefer the teaching style of Septima. She is strict, but fair, and gives each student challenging assignments that fit their level. What say you, Miss Granger?"

"I..." Her voice petered out as she looked down to her shoes. With an indignant huff, Miss Granger straightened her spine and pinned him with her eyes. "So what if Professor Vector is my favorite teacher? What does that have to do with anything?" 

"What it has to do with, Miss Granger, is that I know you. I know what you are like scholastically, clearly, and I also know you personally." 

"Personally?" Miss Granger scoffed. "Fat chance. Professor Snape, the real one I mean, doesn't know me at all. If you were really him, you wouldn't really know me either!" 

That pronouncement made him giggle a little, that he shouldn't know her. Oh, Severus knew Miss Granger. He wasn't a spy for nothing, he knew practically everyone in the castle as well as the back of his hand.

"I know that you despise wizarding chess," he said, watching with satisfaction as her scowl dropped and her lips parted in surprise. "I also know you found a doxy in your room at 12 Grimmauld Place and instead of killing it as you should have, you released it into the back garden in hopes that it would run away and be free. I know you don't actually fancy Ronald Weasley, but that your jealousy stems from the fact that he is one of your only close friends. I also know you're planning on Obliviating your parents and sending them off to a foreign land to protect them from the war." Severus took a long breath then, watching as Hermione seemed to stall uselessly as she processed all he'd said. Oh yes, he knew all those things and more. Chattering with Ginevra Weasley in the kitchens of the Order hideout, the letters to her mum she'd written in his class when her potion was finished far, far before her classmates, and the most intimate one - her murmured admissions in her cot while on the run in 1997. Tearful truths that she'd revealed to Headmaster Black's portrait like the old fool was some sort of Catholic confession booth. He'd heard them all. 

"That's impossible..." Miss Granger whispered, more to herself than to anyone.

"No," he replied quietly. "No, it's improbable, but it is true. Where were you thinking, Australia? And you weren't going to tell your mates either, I'd wager. Not until everything was said and done." 

"No, no..." Miss Granger replied, but all the fight had left her voice and posture. "But that would mean..." 

"Yes?" he asked her excitedly. "Come now, girl, you're almost there." 

"There is only one conclusion, but it is so..." Hermione gasped then, and stepped back away from him quite suddenly. "Are you really him from... the future? That would explain the grey robes, I suppose." 

"Utterly brilliant," Severus laughed, then he looked down to his robes. "Grey?" he uttered with surprise, fingering the wool that had once been pitch black. Now it seemed old and worn like perhaps the trip through time had been a little longer and more violent than even he knew. "I look like a monk," he mused. 

"Sir!" Miss Granger came to his side then, pulling her wand in a less threatening manner. "Sir, you've belladonna all over your coat, had you been poisoned?" She smacked her forehead and began checking him with very simple diagnostic spells. "'Residuals'! No wonder, you'd almost been poisoned, right?" 

"Indeed, I had almost been poisoned. Almost followed through, that time, and it'd been such a waste of a good crop of flower," he replied, watching her check this and that until she came to a conclusion. 

"Well you seem alright for now, but your stomach is quite damaged, and you're clearly showing some... some cognition issues.” Oh, and she was so nervous about it, too.

"You can say it, Granger, I'm practically daffy," he snickered. Again, Miss Granger was less than amused. 

"Sir, who poisoned you? Do you know?" she asked softly, sitting down across from him on a stack of crates. 

"Oh yes, and the bastard who did it was utterly vile," Severus chuckled shakily. Miss Granger may not have had a good sense of humor, but she did pick up on sarcasm. 

"Oh my god, sir!" she cried shrilly, her eyes instantly growing wide and watery. "Sir, no, you didn't do it to yourself, did you?" 

"Good to know you think I'm a vile bastard as well, Miss Granger," he replied with a smile. 

"That's not…" She paused, collecting herself. "Are you... alright now?" Her voice was so unsure and her posture so discomforted. She was not accustomed to dealing with issues such as this. Poor girl. 

"Don't worry your head over my lack of mental fortitude," he said softly. Severus pulled the time turner again from his neck and held it out. "Instead, be a good girl and help me understand how to use this bit of time I've been given. I know you've dabbled." 

She seemed surprised by that. "How, sir? Only Professor McGonagall and the Headmaster knew." 

"Oh no," he chuckled in reply. "Believe me, Miss Granger, there is little that slips past me. When I did suss it out, it explained a lot about that year." 

That made her smile to herself, a bit bashfully perhaps. "Well, I... I know I was only to use it for scholastic purposes but... either way, what can I help you with?" She bit her lip then, nibbling on it anxiously. "This is about the war, isn't it? Prevent catastrophe?" 

Severus lost his good humor at that. Yes, this next year was a catastrophe, his younger self had been a walking catastrophe waiting to happen. 

The feeling of his soul being shredded still burned within him like a phantom limb. 

"Yes, prevention. Certain things must not occur if the war is to..." Severus paused, grinding his teeth a bit as he stomached the lie, packed it away as just another ache. Did it make him a bastard to employ this girl as an agent of self-preservation? Well, it didn't matter now. She was already involved, and it would be a shame to use an Obliviate on such a decent mind. 

"If the war is to be won," he finally said. 

"Then let's get to it!" Hermione smiled. "Sir," she amended sheepishly.

So they plotted, and Miss Granger had an incredible stash of planning accouterment in her bag. Files, color coding markers, calendars, it was like a small stationery shop within her purse. She took every half-baked concept from his lips and spun it into a fully-fledged idea, with times and places. If they were going to succeed, they needed organization, or at least Miss Granger claimed. She was working remarkably well with the shreds of information he was giving her. 

"Too much information will disrupt the timeline," he'd explained, and she'd happily taken that excuse as gospel. Well, he'd never known she was so... so good. It was no wonder that she was such moral support for Potter. 

She was almost too good, too kind.

“Sir, shall I fetch you some dinner?” she asked him softly. “You look like you could use a good meal.”

“There is no need…” he attempted to reply, though his words were cut short by Miss Granger standing rather quickly, brushing her hair down a bit with her fingers.

“I won’t take no for an answer, sir.” She smiled, packing her things into her bag. “I’ll just pop off and get something for you to eat, and perhaps some of my other notebooks from the dorms. I’ll be right back.”

He could only nod at her. In the hours she’d been working with him, it had become apparent that when she set herself to some task, she was resolutely fixed upon it.

She rounded to the door, cracking it open then turning back to him with a frown.

“Don’t… don’t go anywhere,” she said with a frown.

“I do not plan to vacate this… this closet, Miss Granger,” he replied with a curious quirk of his brow. Well, she was being quite silly now.

“Right…” And she was off. Off to gather food to tend to the weary man she’d found. Oh joy, she must be thrilled.

Severus slipped down the wall, slumping back down onto the chaise with a hard grimace. He had to fight from vomiting, though perhaps it would be best if he evacuated the contents of his stomach.

It would not matter regardless, for his creation had been potent enough. Bezoar or no, he was well and truly damned.

Severus only hoped he could change things before he was utterly snuffed out.

-

Dinner had been a mess, honestly. Ron had been moaning on about Hermione, while that Lavender girl fawned over him and tried – unsuccessfully – feeding him sausages from her fork. If that hadn’t been enough to make Harry gag, Snape was at the high table, being his typical git self, looking around like he owned the place. So what if he was the new Defense Professor, he didn’t have to look so smug about it all the bloody time.

And Draco had left dinner early, gone off to who knew where. Harry wished he had been carrying his map on him, he would have tracked the little ferret. Harry consoled himself by pledging to look for him later, after curfew.

Harry was just dipping down through the portrait hole when he heard Ron’s happy voice ahead of him.

“’Mione!” Ron smiled widely. “You look better.”

“Better?” Hermione replied. Harry saw her then, once he’d come all the way through. She was just shoving something in her school bag. Hadn’t she been ill? “Oh yes, I am better now… thank you,” she added.

“You missed dinner,” Harry said, scrutinizing her a bit. “You going back out?”

“Well, she’s probably half-starved!” Ron offered. “We should go to the kitchens, see if we can snag something for you.”

"It's nothing, just a bit of study in the library before bed," she claimed. “I’m not hungry, sorry Ron.”

"But you were ill in bed all day with m- with pain, right?" Ron stuttered. "Are you sure you have to study in the library?"

Hermione chewed her lip a bit, and honestly, she looked anxious. Why should she be anxious though? Because everyone knew it was monthly pain? Well, maybe that was a bit awkward. 

"Ah... yes, well, it's over now. I'm fine," she assured them shakily. "I’ll see you later." Then Hermione left the tower, closing the portrait hole before either of them could say anything else. 

"Bloody hell, I'm never going to get a chance with her," Ron groused. "Earlier I had her alone and I was even _studying_, but something always manages to come up." 

But life's inconvenient timing was not on Harry's mind. Instead, all he could think of was why Hermione had been acting so cagey about going to the library. She was a swotty girl, everyone knew. It was almost a tradition for her to have dinner, then attempt to rope the both of them into studying with her before inevitably going alone. This time, though, she'd gone off on her own, all anxious and the like. It didn't sit right with Harry, it felt off somehow. 

"I... I think I'm going to join Hermione," he said, almost not even believing that had been what he'd decided to say to Ron. 

Luckily, Ron wasn't paying much mind. "Oh yeah? Well..." he shuffled a bit, perhaps thinking of coming along too. "Well, tell me how she seems later. Like... like maybe put in a good word?" 

"Sure, Ron," Harry smiled half-heartedly. "Sure." 

Ron went off to play chess with Dean, so Harry left the common room and followed after Hermione. He walked the long way down towards the library and stopped in the doorway, startled to see no one occupying her usual table. He searched the stacks and the back corners for her, yet he found nothing. 

Harry approached the counter, where Madame Pince was marking something in a ledger. 

"Madame-" 

"Shhh," she cut him off. "I am becoming weary of reminding you of this library's policy on noise levels, Mr. Potter." 

"Ah, sorry," Harry replied in a comically theatrical whisper, much to her obvious displeasure. "Have you seen Hermione?" 

"Miss Granger?" Madame Prince replied with a dismissive sniff. "No, not today."

Not today? What in the world was Hermione up to?" 

Harry left the library and slid into an alcove, pulling the Marauder's Map from his back pocket. As he tapped it with his wand, he considered the ramifications of what he was doing. In essence, he was spying on his friend, his closest friend if he were being honest. Ron was his best friend, but Hermione and he had always been a bit more, well, how could he put it... he always spilled his guts to her. She knew everything about him practically, and he about her. They were as close as it got. Maybe that meant he should respect her privacy but... maybe it meant what he was doing was ok. Hermione wouldn't intentionally give him the slip, would she? No, it wasn’t possible.

Harry searched the map for Hermione's name. He looked at the obvious places first, classrooms, professors’ offices, but she wasn't in any of those places. No, eventually he located her little bobbing dot, walking towards the... the kitchens? Well, that made some sense, Harry supposed. She'd skipped dinner and hadn't wanted to embarrass herself by admitting she was peckish. Or perhaps she'd been giving Ron the slip after all; he was a bit of a pig when it came to snacking. 

Harry went down towards the kitchens. 

He received a few scowls from the typically friendly Hufflepuff students as he went along. Maybe there was still some animosity from their house towards him and well... he could understand that. He didn't know what, other than ending the war, could win over his school mates. Honestly, he didn't know if it was even worth considering. He’d sort of resigned himself to the hatred after a while. As long as he had Ron and Hermione, things would be just fine.

Around the corner and Harry stopped dead, watching as Hermione ducked out of the entrance to the kitchens holding a plate of biscuits and small sandwiches, smiling to herself silly. What had made Harry stop hadn't been her, no, over in the corner there was... someone, he couldn't tell who, hiding in a shadow. 

And Hermione was going right for them. 

"I got you some nibbles..." Harry could just barely make out Hermione's whisper as she handed the plate to the figure. A pale hand came from the darkness to take the plate, and another grasped Hermione's hand to tug her along with them into the shadow.

"Yes, well, it was thoughtful and all, but we really ought be heading back..." the man murmured in a dark voice. Bloody hell, the voice sounded familiar, but Harry couldn’t for the life of him place it.

Hermione was meeting men in corridors? What was she up to? 

He began to withdraw the map, slowly in an effort to keep quiet. 

Hermione disappeared down into the alcove with the man, her shoes clacking against the stone as she strode away. There was no indication anyone else was walking away with her. The man she was with was like a living shadow, slinking along silently.

When the map flared open, Harry located where he was and felt all the blood drain from his face in a single instant, an instant as his heart stuttered and his fingers felt cold. 

The little dot next to Hermione Granger's was...

No!

It was _Severus Snape_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no! Harry has found them... but what shall he do? Leave me your thoughts below.


	4. An Obsession with Misinformation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry comes to his own conclusions about what he sees.

After losing Hermione and Snape somewhere in the corridors, Harry returned to his dormitory feeling listless and confused. Why would Hermione be skittering about with the git? More importantly, why would she be lying to himself and Ron?

He didn’t wait up for her, and eventually, Ron gave up waiting in the common room as well. They both fell into their beds, Ron bemoaning his bad luck with Hermione, and Harry anxiously considering his options. Sleep did not come to him as easily as the others, so he stayed awake in silence, counting the tassels of his bed curtain and scowling to himself.

It was well into the night when he heard it. The door to his room opening then closing very softly. There was an absence of footsteps as someone entered the room and moved inside. Was it… was a girl visiting one of his roommates? Unlikely…

Through the gap in the curtain, Harry could see the outline of a feminine figure, one who’s hair was a dead giveaway. One who was unlatching and opening his school trunk.

Harry stayed motionless in bed, watching Hermione’s movements as he attempted to keep his breathing regular. She was wearing her school robes still, bent over the trunk and rifling through it. Part of him desperately wanted to jump up out of bed and demand she explain herself, but he had to know… before he did anything, he had to know what she was looking for. What was so important to her that she was willing to steal from him in the dead of night? What could possibly be worth that to her?

Hermione gave up her search in his trunk, leaving his prized cloak and his other treasures, then turned to his bookbag which was just at the foot of his bed. She had her fingers on the closure when they both stilled. Ron snored violently from his bed, and a nervous moment of silence and faint breathing passed before Hermione continued. She undid his bookbag and rather quickly slipped out a volume. Harry could almost see the outline of her triumphant smile in the moonlight that shone through the window. She dipped back down, producing a similar volume from her robes and replaced the one she’d taken. Ah Hermione, always so thorough.

As Hermione turned to leave the boys dorms, Harry knew it was his time to strike. He ought to find out exactly what she was doing, but all he did was lie there and wait for her to leave. He felt like he had as a child when Aunt Petunia came into the cupboard at night to gather those fancy white candles she loved to place on the dinner table. Honestly, he didn’t want to confront Hermione. You confronted friends you trusted to have it out with you, but now… now Harry didn’t trust Hermione at all.

When the click from the downstairs door made its way to Harry’s ears, he threw off the covers and lit his wand, digging through his bag to look for what she’d done. He knew, deep down he knew, it must be _that_ book. The Half-Blood Prince’s book. The book that had started so many arguments with her, fanned the fire of her jealousy in Potions. It must be.

When he located the book, his suspicion was confirmed. The thing was a brand-new edition, blemish-free and missing all it’s helpful and nefarious tidbits in the margins. Why? Why would Hermione do this? Was it just her jealousy making her go mad or was it _him_? Had _Snape_ sent her in to get it in the dead of night? What sort of hold did he have over Hermione? It… it just wasn’t like her to do anything like this! The Hermione he knew would have held him at wand point and demanded he burn it or throw it in the lake, something! It didn’t make any sense. Why would she be so secretive? And why did _Snape_ want that book?

All Harry knew was that Snape was involved, and the bastard had roped Hermione into his web of secrets. That would explain her odd behavior. It would explain everything, honestly.

He felt his scar burn, just slightly, as it usually did on sleepless nights. It made Harry want to scream, to throw the replacement textbook against a wall and act like a bloody child. He didn’t want this, any of this! He didn’t want to have to do all of this alone, either, but it seemed such was his fate.

He’d have to sort out Hermione by himself. There was no way he could get Ron to stay quiet. Honestly, it would be better if Ron were distracted. If he knew about what was going on, Ron would absolutely throw a fit.

Tomorrow, he resolved, he would follow Hermione again. See what else she was getting up to.

-

The next day was chock full of classes, one of which was double Potions. Harry had taken out his stupid new book and failed miserably at his practical work, scowling down at the unmarred pages.

And bloody Hermione had the gall to smile at him. _“Oh, so you’ve replaced that old book? I’m glad you listened to me,” _she’d said in that innocent little voice he sometimes absolutely hated. The voice she used when she was trying not to shout how right she was from the rafters. Harry couldn’t even reply, couldn’t even look at her. He simply couldn’t believe her!

In Defense it was no better. No, in fact, it was the worst. Snape was his usual self, sweeping about the class like an egotistical prat, correcting students for no good reason with that nasty look on his face. And Hermione, God, she just kept looking at him. Gazing at him from under her lashes like she was… well, like she was Lavender Brown looking at Ron. She kept stealing glances, checking the front desk when everyone else was busy looking down.

It made Harry want to heave up his breakfast.

Speaking of Ron, the poor besotted fool, he couldn’t stop looking over at Hermione. He tried his best to look cool while casting defensive spells, but she’d never turned to look at him. Ron was on the fast track to heartbreak.

When Snape had the students pair off, naturally Ron and Harry gravitated together.

“Is she looking?” Ron whispered frantically, casting a warbly shield.

Harry looked over Ron’s shoulder with a frown, a frown he could feel almost all the way down his neck he was so displeased. No, she probably wasn’t aware Ron was even on the same planet as her, let alone the same classroom.

“No, sorry mate,” Harry offered apologetically, casting jinxes half-heartedly as he continued watching Hermione.

Snape passed by Hermione and Millicent, praising the Slytherin easily and practically ignoring Hermione. It seemed so normal that no one thought better of it, but Harry knew. He saw the signs everyone else was missing. Snape corrected Hermione’s posture, his fingers grasping and twisting her wand hand this way and that. That great bloody git was _touching_ her! And she was letting him!

“Like this, obviously,” he could hear Snape correct coldly. “Pay more attention.”

Hermione bit her lip and looked up at the professor. God, she looked mental.

“Of course,” she agreed. Harry couldn’t believe how easily she’d taken that correction. Whenever Snape corrected her she was usually fuming!

She even had a bit of pink to her cheeks before the git swooped off to badger some other students. Was that what this was about? Where they… was Snape… imposing on her? Taking advantage of his authority or what have you? Harry had heard news stories about stuff like that in the Muggle world. He even remembered the gym teacher at Dudley’s school got sacked for fiddling around with some of the students. Was Snape really that kind of man?

Harry then watched as Snape made his way to Malfoy, speaking to the ferret in a voice too low to hear from across the room. Ah yes, just another reminder of the git’s sketchy behavior. He was a spy for the order, Dumbledore trusted him, but Harry knew better. Trust wasn’t everything, and people often took advantage of trust. Snape and Malfoy had been acting all peculiar, and Harry just knew in his gut that Malfoy had taken the mark. So, a better question wouldn’t be if Snape was that kind of man, but if a Death Eater was.

  
And Harry already knew the answer to that was a resounding yes.

He held his wand tight enough to feel the wood bite into his skin. He had to act fast on this. Hermione was far too trusting of a girl. She could have easily been convinced or swayed or… who knows, maybe she’d been spelled into Snape’s bed. Harry grimaced; he didn’t want to even think on the possibility… but he had to do something.

-

Hermione was beginning to worry about the professor.

“Do you need some help, sir?” She chewed on her bottom lip, hand hovering over his back as he retched onto the storeroom floor.

“N…” Professor Snape couldn’t even finish his sentence, overcome once again with the clear need to vomit.

Alright, so Hermione was much past the beginnings of worry.

“Shall I vanish the vomit, sir?” she asked his form meekly. He nodded his head, his dark hair swinging back and forth below him like a pendulum, his hands gripping his knees tight enough that his knuckles were pure white.

Hermione vanished the puddle of bile with a nervous flourish.

“Is there… could I get you some toast?” she inquired hesitantly.

With a growl, Professor Snape rocked back on his heels, letting his back hit the wall.

“No!” he barked roughly. “No more feeding me. You’re like Molly bloody Weasley, shoving food down my throat.”

“Are you sure?” Hermione twisted her wand between her fingers. “Dry toast usually settles my stomach.”

He stood then, towering menacingly over her. His hand rested on her shoulder, stilling her and making her wish she wasn’t breathing at all.

“No amount of food shall ever put me in a pleasant state of mind, nor shall it cure my ‘unsettled stomach’ as you put it.” His eyes were so dark, shining in the low light of the candles they’d set up in the room. It made Hermione want to gasp, seeing him like that.

Gone were his strange smiles, replaced with wide, pained eyes that glistened and twitched. His stained lips were parted slightly as he sucked in breaths greedily, like he couldn’t for the life of him get enough oxygen. The hand on her shoulder had been meant to scare her, Hermione was sure, but now Professor Snape was clutching onto her.

She could feel how unsteady he was.

“What can I do, Professor?” she implored him. “We need you on your feet so we can tackle these tasks I’ve written down.”

He wasn’t looking at her, though. He wasn’t looking at anything. Professor Snape’s eyes had glazed over, and he was staring aimlessly at the wall behind her head.

Hesitantly, like approaching a wild beast, Hermione placed her hand over his. He startled, gently, then returned his eyes to hers with a touch of clarity.

“We must concoct something…” he answered her finally, stepping back away from her and sliding his hand out of her grasp.

“A potion, sir?” Hermione’s eyes lit up, enthusiastic for the task ahead. “To counteract the poison?”

“Obviously, Miss Granger…” Professor Snape growled, wiping his sleeve across his lips. “Do not badger me for the details, Miss Granger, as we have little time. You must appear in your classes today as usual. Remember, keep your eyes on the other me for any unusual behavior towards yourself.”

“Right…” Hermione ducked her head.

“I will meet you at the edge of the forest. Prepare a basket and gloves for collection,” he instructed, and she was all eagerness to comply.

“Shall we meet after dinner?” she asked excitedly. How often was it that a student got the opportunity to brew with a noted Potions Master outside of the classroom? She shouldn’t be this excited, the man was sickly, but she couldn’t help it…

The Professor of her time was surly at best and a downright beast at his worst. This other Professor Snape, however, was something completely different. Hermione didn’t know if it was the more intimate setting they were finding themselves in that had changed him so, or perhaps the next year was what inspired the change… either way, she wanted to soak up as much information from him as possible.

There was something absolutely electrifying about learning from a Master.

“Yes… I will meet you by the twisted hawthorn trees. Wait there and I shall find you.”

“Yes sir,” Hermione agreed.

Hermione left the storage room with a small smile, looking forward to that evening when she could work side by side her Professor.

-

Inside the room, Severus slumped against the wall, sliding down until he was prone on the ground.

He didn’t know how long he could keep this up.

-

Severus didn’t know how long it took him to collect himself from the floor, but by the time he was moving about the castle, the sun was hanging low in the sky, casting brassy shadows through the western facing windows and warming him with nostalgia and fear.

He needed to plant the seeds now, lest this trip would be for naught.

Aimless wandering brought him to the dungeons, a dangerous place to be for a duplicate of Head of Slytherin, but he could not prevent himself from taking the familiar path. No, indeed, the familiarity seemed to buoy his mood, make him feel just a touch less lost at sea.

And then Severus spotted Draco, hurriedly making his way through the corridors with his head down. Classes were in session, were they not?

What a perfect opportunity to get on task.

“Draco,” Severus nearly wheezed, grabbing the boy by the shoulders and pulling him into an alcove.

“Uncle…!” Draco struggled, grappling for his wand but unable to reach. Severus smiled darkly, his fingers digging into his nephews’ arms.

“Do not attempt to retrieve your wand, Draco.” Severus tilted his head down into Draco’s face, pinning him with an expression that could only be described as mad. “Or you shall…. regret it…”

“What do you want?” Draco scowled, still struggling to get himself free. “Do not speak of my task again, Uncle, it is my task alone.” Draco had a tremor to his voice as he said the word ‘task’, a tremor that hinted at his distress.

“Tsk, Draco,” Severus smiled darkly. “Cursed necklaces and poisoned wine…” At this, Draco stopped struggling, his eyes wide and openly fearful. Neither of these attempts had come to fruition, but it was clear Draco had already begun to plot these failures.

Severus released Draco from his grip but kept one hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“You cannot buy death from a shop, Draco. You cannot purchase treachery…”

“What else can be done?” Draco murmured wretchedly, covering his face with his hands. “What else can I do? The old man has been in my presence alone several times. I know…”

The boy cast his face aside, nearly sobbing; his resolve was crumbling.

He was just a child.

“I know what must be done… but I cannot.”

Severus felt his vow burning within him, bubbling out of his roiling stomach and into his throat. He could not abandon Draco to this task, not again. The remaining shreds of his soul would not allow it.

“You cannot,” Severus agreed. At this, Draco sniffled back a pitiful cry. He looked akin to how Severus remembered him as a toddler, constantly red-faced and whining. He took Draco by the shoulder and shook him, getting Draco to look him in the eyes.

“But I can. I can complete your task,” he offered the boy boldly.

“No!” Draco nearly shouted. “I must do it, else _he_ will kill mother.”

“Draco,” Severus scoffed, leaning against the wall for support, his body drained of nearly all his energy. “You misunderstand the intentions of our Lord. He will kill your mother the moment there is opportunity, regardless if you strike down Albus Dumbledore or not.” He explained this slowly and gravely, not allowing his eyes to break contact from his nephew for one moment.

He needed Draco to understand.

“He wishes to punish your father. _That_ is the material goal of this little… exercise. You _will_ fail because our Lord will find fault where he pleases.”

“Help me, then,” Draco begged darkly. “Help me, if you are so determined to get yourself killed in my stead.”

“Draco,” Severus murmured, standing from the wall, wobbling on his feet. “You need not worry. I am already a dead man walking.”

“Uncle…?” Draco looked up curiously, but Severus would not allow any questions. He pushed the boy out of the alcove and began walking with him.

“It is time to divulge your better ideas so we may at the very least make it appear like you had a hand in this…”

And Draco led him up to the 7th floor.

-

Harry stood under the cloak, clutching the map to his chest as he tried not to make a sound.

Snape and Malfoy had been in the Room of Requirement for ages, doing God only knew what.

He’d waited for them to emerge, squatting down in a shadowed corner waiting for them, missing dinner entirely as he staked out the hidden entrance on the 7th floor. 

What could they possibly be doing in there for so long?

Eventually, Snape exited the room alone, looking shaky on his feet and sluggish. Almost immediately the man Disillusioned himself and disappeared within the corridors. Harry was on his case, however, and followed the dot on his map marked clearly as Severus Snape down, down until they reached the doors to the castle and out into the early Autumn chill.

All the while Harry tried his hardest to understand what all of this meant.

Eventually, they both came upon the perimeter of the Forbidden Forest, Harry stopping an easy distance away and squatting behind some crates filled with disgusting smelling feed for Hagrid’s beasts.

Snape rounded a particularly gnarled tree, pulling from behind its mass a woman draped in school robes ladened with an empty basket.

Hermione…

The git held her hand as he pulled her deeper into the Forbidden Forest, and Harry could almost swear he heard a distant echo of his friend’s giggle.

What the hell was going on?


	5. Restoratives for the Wretched

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions rise amongst the Golden Trio, meanwhile, Headmaster Snape takes a turn.

If there was one thing Hermione was realizing about Headmaster Snape, it was that while he was a bit fun to be around, he had retained every bit of the bastard she knew him to be.

He was utterly terrifying.

“Clockwise, thrice Granger, then increase the heat,” Headmaster Snape commanded weakly, but his diminished baritone did nothing to lessen his force within the small makeshift potion lab they’d set up in the storage closet.

Hermione bent over the small burbling copper cauldron, stirring clockwise as instructed and preparing to raise the heat of the flame beneath. Though the heat from the fire was already making her sweat under her jumper, made the small room they’d been meeting in all this week practically a furnace, she felt like shivering. Headmaster Snape was leaning against the wall to her right shoulder, palm flat against the stone as he steadied himself and looked over her work with a sneer.

Her silent judge.

“How hot should I increase the flame, sir?” Hermione asked shakily, already beginning to give more power to it with her wand. Snape shook his head roughly, strands of his lank hair falling forward and obscuring his grim features.

“Common sense,” he bit out roughly. “Are you able to use it?” His reproach had Hermione shaking, angry and frustrated with his handling of her. They’d gone and picked ingredients together, and he’d laughed at their serendipitous timing when the waxy light of the half-moon shone down into the thickets and brambles, the perfect timing for their little jaunt.

The moment they added a cauldron to the mix he had become absolutely vile. It took all of Hermione’s effort to remind herself the importance of this brew.

“Now add the crushed whortleberry leaves…” he said, and she did as he commanded, but of course it was not enough. Her spoon was poised to deposit them when he lurched forward, grabbing her wrist and wrenching it back.

“Sir!” Hermione rebuked him, daring not say anything further. His mind was tattered, though only recently had he become angry enough to make her fear for it.

Headmaster Snape shot her a look between the curtain of his hair, a look that said far too much and cautioned her to remain silent. He flicked her wrist, sending the contents of the spoon to the worktable in a gooey mass of chlorophyll green.

“This…” He held the spoon before her eyes, their hands shaking together as he spoke almost too lowly for her to hear. “Is what, Miss Granger?”

The question felt dangerous, felt like a threat to her person. God! She was only trying to help! God forbid she…

She… she’d used a pewter spoon from her kit.

“I’m so sorry,” she apologized earnestly, feeling the prick of shame at the corners of her eyes, little tears that she would never allow to fall.

“And what do we use when at the volatile reaction stage?” he asked her darkly, his voice thick with disappointment. It shouldn’t make her want to scream, but it did.

Hermione Granger could not handle disappointing others.

“Steel, sir,” she replied, her voice small. The Headmaster released her hand then and dug into her potions kit, pulling forth her only steel spoon. He placed it into her hand roughly, then very suddenly looked her in the eyes.

The bubbling of the cauldron was the only noise as his eyes pierced hers, looking deeply at her shame. It was a simple mistake, but not one any supposed ‘Brightest Witch’ should be making. He said nothing, however, simply grasping onto her and looking down into her wide eyes.

He looked quite frightened then, for a brief moment, but the moment lapsed as he nodded and let her go. Let himself slide back against the wall.

“Steady on, Granger,” he offered softly. Hermione’s mind whirred as she continued with the steps, depositing the crushed leaves into the roiling potion with the steel spoon, then replacing it with her stirring rod.

Hermione hoped desperately that this potion would help the Headmaster, though she wondered what would remain when the lingering poison was finally dredged from his system.

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione glanced at the man. He was rubbing at his chest, in a slow and agonized way as if he was in great pain. Alright, she should admit it to herself, she was worried about all of this. If the potion did not also alleviate his madness, she wondered if they would ever be able to do any good at all.

She could only hope.

-

He seemed better once the flame had been snuffed out. Less agitated, less domineering.

Perhaps the heat had made him sicker somehow.

“We must wait at least five hours before we can introduce the… chalk…” Headmaster grimaced, sliding into the chaise that had apparently become his bed as of late.

Hermione cast Tempus, keeping him in her peripheral as she checked the time. It was as if she thought he might disappear into a puff of smoke, or dissolve into a shadow. It still… didn’t quite feel real. Before she even noted the time, he was waving his hand dismissively.

“Yes, yes, it’s late. Might be best if you toddle off to your bed and get some sleep before the morning,” he uttered roughly, then smiled as if a wicked thought occurred to him. “Someone’s got to come round and check if I’m still breathing.”

It punctured her heart, his words did. She’d never spent so much time around someone who so casually mentioned their own death.

“Sir,” she began softly, but he wouldn’t allow it. Another dismissive wave of his hand that made her concern bubble into consternation.

“Cease with that, Miss Granger. Cease the ‘sirs’ and the pitiful little looks. I am not a house-elf so you need not work yourself into a tizzy.” He reclined onto his back, looking over a shoulder at her. It made her want to look away, with how almost intimate it was to see him where he slept, although unconventional a locale. His hair was so long it dragged onto the dirty flagstone, and Hermione had the insane and utterly freakish thought of brushing it back.

It was just… the floor was _dirty_…

Instead, all Hermione could do was attempt to ignore it. Ignore his strange comments and behavior. Pretend that at least some small part of all this wasn’t completely weird now.

“Should I bring you some breakfast before we get started, or would the potion be better on an empty stomach?” Her sensible question was met with hoarse laughter, laughter that had her sitting up straight in her chair, prickling and frustrated.

“It wasn’t an unreasonable thing to ask!” Hermione seethed, his menacing figure all but forgotten as he lay there and laugh at her riotously.

“You are so determined to put food into my mouth, Granger, it is absolutely insane,” he laughed openly, covering his eyes with his hand. It made her want to smack him, honest to god!

“Absolutely insane? You would know, wouldn’t you,” Hermione nearly snarled, biting back her next comment as she realized her insensitivity. “Oh sir, I’m…”

But all he did was roll his eyes, groaning dramatically. “Spare me the theatrics, Granger. Oh, so sorry to hurt your feelings, didn’t mean it,” he mocked her, his eyebrow raised as if to challenge her. “If you didn’t mean it you wouldn’t have said it. In all fairness to your bluntness, it isn’t wrong of you to say.”

He leveled her with an intense look then, devoid of all his previous mirth. It still shocked her how his mood could change on a whim.

“I am insane, I suppose.”

The weakness of his admission made Hermione’s heart clench. He wasn’t a good man, per se, but he was brilliant. It was painfully obvious why he got away with his dark jokes and detestable treatment of his students. The man was bloody brilliant, as Ron might say, though of course Ron would never be caught dead saying it about their Professor. Regardless of his temper, or his attitude, he didn’t deserve insanity. He didn’t deserve to slip away like that.

“Not for long,” Hermione promised, her lips set in a grim line. Her words perhaps took them both by surprise. Headmaster Snape sat up a little as he watched her stand from her seat.

“Is that right? You about to fix me then?” he smirked, his eyes a dark reminder that he was in no way smiling. No, he wasn’t all too sure about her, and neither was she.

“I’ll try,” she replied, gathering her things. “To help you, I mean. Not to fix you,” she back peddled. Fixing someone… just didn’t quite sound right.

Hermione turned to leave him.

“Wait, Granger.” He had her stopping short, turning and both desperate and weary of his next verbal offering.

He fished out the stationary she’d given him, all haphazardly piled on top of the folder she’d borrowed him as well. His dark, spidery hand littered the pages tightly. Seeing so many sheets of it made her antsy to get her hands on it.

“Take a look through this tonight, come back in the morning and tell me your thoughts,” he said as she took the pages, not stopping to read them lest she stand there for hours going over them. Instead, Hermione huffed and opened the folder, sliding the pages in neatly and closing it as if it was some great stress upon herself to straighten them.

“I hope they’re organized,” she groused, but really she was thrilled. Finally, she was being let in on his plans. And he wanted to know her thoughts, her thoughts!

That had to count for something!

“Goodnight, Miss Granger,” he offered somberly, keeping Hermione’s gaze as she went out the door, and even in her room she thought she could still feel it.

-

In the darkness of her bed, the curtains drawn tight against prying eyes, Hermione looked over the notes she’d been given with anxious fervor. Page after page of information, and yet as she read, Hermione felt herself sink into the cushions as her brows drew tight and her breathing became a bit panicked. She hurried through the notes, desperate to disprove her belief, but it could not be.

None of it made any sense.

Nearly thirty pages of notes, all in Headmaster Snape’s awkwardly slanted hand, and yet none of the ramblings seemed to mean anything. It was like casting Tempus and being shown a recipe for stew, it just… it made her want to pull her hair out! Perhaps he’d written them in a fit of madness, or perhaps they were coded and needed deciphering. Why in the world would he send her off with these? If they were coded, why wouldn’t he at the very least allude to it before telling her he ‘wanted her thoughts’ on them. Her thoughts at this point were that his mind was absolutely beyond saving!

She went to sleep that night nervously anticipating bringing the notes back to him, pondering how angry he might become if she admitted she couldn’t understand a jot of it.

In the morning, Hermione performed her standard hygiene rituals early. It was a Saturday, so the Tower way very quiet. It seemed almost too quiet though, and there was nearly no one in the common room. Perhaps everyone had decided to sleep in that Saturday, which was fine for her. Hermione had to grab a quick breakfast before she took the potioner’s chalk down to the closet Snape resided in.

It was as Hermione descended towards the Great Hall that she realized something felt… well, amiss.

Where in the world were Harry and Ron?

Of course, this morning it made sense that they would be absent, being a weekend and all, but she did feel the loss keenly. She wasn’t used to being so isolated, not since her first year.

In the hall, Hermione spotted them both eating with their usual group, which surprised her a touch. Why in the world would the boys be awake so early on a Saturday?

Either way, it was good timing for her. She could get to speak with them before bringing the chalk down for the stomach restorative. Hermione could admit it… she missed her friends, missed loitering with them in the halls and trying desperately to follow along when Harry went on paranoid tangents about Malfoy, but… what she was beginning with Headmaster Snape, it was far too important, and he swore it would be best to keep it between the two of them. Time travelers in kind, after all.

Hermione sat on the opposite side of the table as them, smiling to both of them as she nabbed a piece of toast and began buttering it.

“Morning Harry, morning Ron,” she greeted them, but neither greeted her back. The clatter of their silverware and conversation far down the table was the only noise. Ron was looking at her sideways, a bit peculiarly, but Harry was almost pretending she hadn’t sat down at all.

“Harry, good morning. Sleep well?” Hermione tried again, and when he refused to reply a second time, Hermione realized just how short her fuse was. She dropped her toast to her plate and seethed, why was this always happening?

“Harry, for the love of… _Ron_, Harry isn’t speaking with me. Any guesses as to why?” she demanded more than asked, looking between the both of them. Ginny, who sat a few seats down, looked immediately pained by the whole ordeal.

“Whelp, I’m not hungry,” Ginny claimed, standing and leaving the Hall. Hermione didn’t blame her for wanting to vacate before any drama unfolded. The three of them were the best of friends, but as many well knew, they were also the best at squabbling.

Ron was looking at her steadily, his fork halfway to his mouth and hovering in midair, kippers crumbling apart and falling, _thankfully_, to his plate.

“You’re speaking to _me_ now?” Ron set his fork down, running his hand through his shaggy hair as he breathed in deeply. “Bloody hell, welcome back Hermione,” he added sarcastically.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hermione crossed her arms. “I haven’t _not_ been speaking with anyone.” Harry was still avoiding them, so Hermione determined it would be best to do the same. The best option was always to wait out one of the boys when they were having a teen tantrum.

“We haven’t spoken properly in nearly a month!” Ron claimed. “I swear, it’s like you don’t even go to this school anymore.”

“Oh, don’t exaggerate Ron.” Hermione rolled her eyes, though her pulse began to pound in her ears, perhaps a touch of guilt was beginning to make her uncomfortable. “Maybe I have been a bit distant.”

“Distant, right,” Ron grumbled, standing up from the bench and grabbing his scarf. “You coming?”

“W-where?” Hermione’s eyes widened, looking around. Harry was gone, she’d not even noticed him leave, and now that she was looking, nearly everyone was filtering out of the hall. Ron had even left his plate half full, truly a strange thing. “You’re not going to finish breakfast?”

Ron motioned to himself impatiently, to his Quidditch jersey and cleats with an impatient huff. “Seriously, ‘Mione? It’s our big game against Ravenclaw. Have a bit of sense.” His rebuff hurt, though she supposed she deserved it. Hermione hadn’t even noticed their Quidditch gear, hadn’t even realized it was that late into the month already… Lord, but she couldn’t go to the stupid game! She had to be in the storage closet finishing up Headmaster Snape’s stomach restorative in moments.

“I… I forgot. I have a load of work to do…” she began, but Ron only shook his head. He wasn’t taking her excuses this morning.

“Yeah, right, work…” he grumbled, wrapping his scarf around his neck rather tightly in his agitation. He had to wrench it loose, but oh, his eyes were thunderous.

“I’m so sorry, Ron… I'll…” Hermione bit her lip, considering the options. Well, all she needed was to bring down the chalk and Headmaster Snape could do the rest. She would have the time to come back up for the game. “I’m not missing the game, promise,” she couldn’t help but say.

Ron’s anger dissipated, still tugging on that scarf, though more gently now. “Yeah? You will?”

“Sure, I just… might be a bit late. Have to turn something in…” Her lies were piling up, but Ron didn’t seem to mind. He was already smiling in that jovial way of his.

“Good, good. Cheer us on then, yeah?” And he was off, through the doors and to his game.

Hermione would follow them, cheer them on as she promised. She just had to make really good time.

-

“Sir, I’ve brought the chalk, but I do need to slip away for a few hours…” Hermione slipped into the storage closet, setting the chalk on the potions worktable and turning towards the chaise in which Headmaster Snape usually rested.

But he was not there.

“Sir?” Hermione glanced around, conscious of the time, but her worry for the man was quickly overwhelming her. It wasn’t a large room, smaller than most bathrooms, but she couldn’t’ see him anywhere. Would he have really left?

Hermione rounded the worktable, looking here and there until her heel skidded in something… wet.

She had to hold back a scream when she saw what it was she’d nearly slipped on.

“Sir! Oh my god!” Hermione gasped, dropping to her knees next to the face-down body of Headmaster Snape. Her socks stained red as she pushed him onto his side, her trembling hands brushing his hair away from his face and feeling for a pulse.

He coughed then, deeply from his chest as if he could hardly breathe, and so Hermione abandoned his neck in favor of finishing the restorative. She knew what was needed, the chalk needed to be dissolved in alcohol then mixed into the solution just before ingestion. She could administer the concoction to him, she _had_ to.

She worked in a frenzy, preparing the potion and keeping an eye on the man as he shivered and lie on the ground, coughing blood onto the floor around him. There was no time to panic, no time to gaze over her shoulder at him desperate for his input or thin praise, no, she must rely on her wits alone this time.

Fairly quickly, but what Hermione feared was not soon enough, the brew was complete. It was a thick sludge that needed to be administered as soon as possible, so Hermione skipped the step of bottling it and instead ladled a portion out for her patient. He was lying quietly on the ground, looking paler than usual which was startling to see. The blood that coated the stones of the floor was beginning to dry, and his eyes were beginning to droop, whether from simple fatigue or worse.

"I'm sorry about this, sir," Hermione apologized gently, ladling the restorative to his lips and near forcing him to drink. Half of it ended up on his already stained robes, the other, thankfully, was taking down. He coughed violently, though he suddenly seemed very aware of his surroundings.

"Are you alright? Sir, please," Hermione begged him, holding his head off the ground. "Do you need another dose?"

“I’m… I’ll be f-“ Another cough interrupted him then, wracking his tall frame and making him look every bit as wretched as he likely felt. It didn’t seem like the restorative was quite working, and Hermione was beginning to lose her mind.

“Sir, with all due respect, you’re the farthest from fine!” she replied anxiously. “Surely there is something I can do for you, sir? Tell me and I shall do it, please!”

“Sh…” he began, but his voice drifted off into nothing. Oh God, but she feared for him greatly.

“Sh? Sir, please,” she beseeched him, hoping this was not the last of his time. It couldn’t be, there must be more. He could scarcely come back all this way for nothing.

“Shrill, G-Granger,” he finally murmured, causing her to crack a watery smile.

“Very funny, sir,” she replied softly. “Please, tell me what I can get for you. There must be something.”

He coughed again, a rough cough from his lungs that made Hermione want to wince. It sounded horribly painful. It was some time before he replied, his voice in such a froggy state as to force him to whisper.

“Wolf eel eggs, preserved.”

“In the potions stores?” Hermione nearly jumped to her feet, readying herself to once again steal from the potions stores. She felt not nearly as bad, considering her few options.

“No, I’m… I’m afraid not. My office,” he groaned, holding his head in his hands. “_His_ office.”

“I…” Hermione blanched, but she could not drag her feet on this. Regardless of the risk, she must take it. “I’ll do my best.”

“Not so fast, girl,” he replied quickly, but the strain to speech such was evident in the timbre of his voice. “The password is Notechis. Do be careful, Granger.”

“I will,” she promised easily, though a thread of steel colored her voice. She left the confines of the storage closet, almost immediately Disillusioning herself and beelining for the third floor with an intensity that could come only from desperation.

Through the horribly winding corridor, she finally found herself at the door to the classroom, and she pushed through without much thought. The room was practically pitch black, though she knew the room well enough to locate the office door, towards the back of the classroom past the raised dais. Her heart pounded rapidly against her chest as she neared the door, murmuring the password softly enough that even she hardly heard it. The door, however, heard her plea, and opened with a silent swing of its hinges, admitting her to the office.

Thankfully, the master of this domain was nowhere about, likely at the game that she had stupidly promised to sit in on. Instead of ruminating on that poor choice, Hermione strode over the shelves lining the back wall, shelves that once housed the odds and ends of Quirrell, the friendly school pictures of Remus, and the horrid pink China collection of Dolores Umbridge. Now in their place sat many jars of preserved ingredients, things she knew from her own personal study that cost small fortunes and were rare in their gathering and use.

Hermione cast charms about the room, uncertain if the shelves might be spelled against removal of the objects but found none. After, it took not long to identify the correct item, as all the jars were fastidiously labeled in Professor Snape’s own hand. She took the Wolf eel eggs and could not return to her companion’s side quickly enough, all the way hoping desperately that this would be the ticket. If it wasn’t, she didn’t quite know what she would do.

Hermione needed him; they all did.

When Hermione came running back, jar of murky eggs trapped within her firm grasped, he seemed… better. Headmaster Snape sat upon the chaise, back straight and head upon his hands. His posture immediately changed as she barged in, his wand out and towards her. It made Hermione lose her breath, in all honesty, he looked quite clear-headed.

Then why was she at wand point now?

“Sir!” she exclaimed, rushing to pull forth the preserved Wolf eel eggs and present them to him. “I retrieved the eggs, but… Do you require them still?”

He looked quite pained for a moment, though solid as stone on his feet, and it was clear from his minimal expression it was not physical pain he suffered from. Slowly, the man pocketed his wand, though he still stood rigidly in the center of the closet room.

His eyes were boring into her, and Hermione felt horribly disarmed.

“No,” he uttered roughly. “I need nothing more from you.”

“So, the restorative was satisfactory after all?”

His brows were drawn together tightly, his lips a thin line. No, he looked quite himself again, the madness gone, and the many buttons of his frock coat all done up.

“It would seem.”

Hermione approached her friendly shadow with a small smile, so relieved that he was well again that she half forgot herself. She patted his arm, though he did nothing in reaction.

  
“I am so glad to see you’ve recovered Headmaster, though for someone who has circumvented death you look a bit grim,” she smiled in mirth, waiting for his posture to relax and for him to enter in on the joke.

He, however, did no such thing. He said nothing at all.

“Headmaster Snape…” she began, tentative in her attempt to coax him to speak. “If you are up to it, perhaps you could shed some light on these notes you handed me yesterday. They are… incomprehensible,” she said the last word as if it were an apology, fishing the file full of his mad scribblings out of her bag and thrusting them towards his stiff figure. He took them slowly, his eyes lingering on her, his features unreadable and so unnerving. After a beat, he looked down upon the file and began looking over the notes, the first expression she’d seen on his face since he’d been on the ground appearing most suddenly. His eyebrows shot up, looking over his own words. Perhaps he didn’t recall writing it at all, or perhaps he was simply surprised at how illegible they ended up. Finally, after shuffling through the lot twice, he looked back at her, a small smile playing at his lips that had Hermione letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

“It seems we have much to do this year, Miss Granger,” he said finally, waving the packet of notes.

“Well, I’m terribly glad you could make sense of them at the least,” she replied happily, sitting down on her now usual chair of three stacked crates.

“Yes, well… I did write them, after all,” he replied, the smirk of his lips almost seeming sarcastic.

And as it turned out later, he was receptive to finally being fed.

-

The blood had come out of her robes, though her socks had been a goner. She’d had to vanish them lest anyone see how absolutely messed they were with blood stains. Her back ached and her eyes stung, from crying whilst helping Headmaster Snape recover and from spending the rest of the day in the library obsessively memorizing every healing spell she could. It seemed like a miracle that her companion had managed to recover. She'd left him with a plate of late lunch, with a promise to meet again sometime next week once he had sorting some... affairs, whatever that meant.

Hermione peeked her head in the common room, letting out a relieved gust of breath at seeing it empty.

Her relief was short-lived.

From almost nowhere, Harry appeared, still in his Quidditch robes and looking quite put out.

Oh no, the game.

“You didn’t come to the game,” Harry said lightly, but there was an edge to his voice. Oh, he was angry.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” Hermione offered softly, dropping her bag to the floor. “I didn’t know it meant that much to you.”

“It meant the world to Ron. He kept looking into the stands for you the entire game, and when Neville told us he never saw you, we figured out the rest,” Harry was looking over the rims of his glasses at her, it was a look she’d never seen from him before. “Where were you? What was so important?” The way he asked had her shivering, a frisson of guilt was working its way up her spine.

Did he know something?

“I was… working on personal projects,” Hermione lied, again, and she couldn’t bare to lie so much to her only friends. It broke her heart, really it did, but his mistrust was starting to get on her nerves. “Harry, it really sounds like you don’t trust me.”

That seemed to break Harry’s resolve, or whatever it was that had kept his tone at least mildly civil. He ripped off his glasses and threw them onto a low coffee table, scrubbing his hands on his face with clear agitation. “Do you think I trust you? After what you’ve done?”

“Harry, calm down!” Hermione’s eyes widened, feeling immediately on guard as she became the focus of his ire. “You needn’t be so upset.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” He reached for the school bag near his feet and wrenched free his potions text, throwing the book to the floor in a mangle of pages. Hermione gasped as it hit near her feet, stepping back and reaching for her wand. God, she had never felt this frightened around Harry before.

“The book…” Hermione inhaled, pressing a hand to her pounding heart. “I can explain that.”

“Try, just try and explain it, Hermione,” Harry challenged with a sneer that marred his boyish face and made him look much older than he was. 

“I just… I thought you…” Hermione paused, feeling her guilt and fear swept away by a sudden and intense anger.

How _dare_ he?

“I told you to give up that book! I told you it wasn’t right to cheat like you were and _you didn’t listen to me_!” Hermione let loose, raising her voice to his level, thoughtless of their position within the very public common room.

“Why should I?” Harry scoffed. “Because you’re jealous? Because you just need to be the best at everything? Because everything Saint Hermione does is gold and silver, no matter what rules she breaks or what lines she crosses!”

Hermione laughed humorlessly, smacking her head with her hand. “You’re one to talk about crossing lines and breaking rules.”

Thudding footsteps came down the stairs from the boy’s dormitory. Ron, looking horribly sleepy with his hair matted to one side had come down, his eyes wide as he took in the scene. It made Hermione want to cover her face in shame, that if he had heard Harry yelling then likely everyone in the Tower had as well.

“Harry, the bloody hell is wrong with you?” Ron shouted, coming around to Hermione and slinging an arm around her shoulders.

“Don’t get in the middle of this, Ron!” Harry almost growled. “Do you even know what she’s been up to lately?”

“What?” Ron looked between them, his eyes settling on Hermione.

“I… took his book,” she explained to him softly, guilt making her tongue feel heavy. She knew Harry wasn’t talking about the book any longer, she knew he must know something more and it was petrifying her.

Ron suddenly looked extremely peeved, glancing back over to Harry. “You’re screaming about a book? Merlin, Harry.”

“It’s more than that!” Harry insisted, running his hands through his hair as he paced about the room. Hermione waited for the sting, waited for him to call her out. She knew Ron would hate her, knew this might be the end of their friendships, but maybe she could salvage it if she had the time. Maybe she could convince them that what she was doing right.

“I can’t handle this, I can’t handle knowing I can’t trust you, Hermione, I can’t -!” Harry’s denunciation was cut short suddenly, as he hissed in pain and gripped his head. The relief at knowing he wouldn’t say anything more was dwarfed exponentially at seeing her best friend in agony.

“God, Harry.” Ron dropped his arm from around her shoulder, moving over to Harry’s side as he grimaced in pain. “You alright?”

But Harry was silent, as he slipped to his knees and brought his head down to the ground, still cradling it between his hands.

“We need to get him to the hospital wing!” Hermione instructed shrilly; her nerves frayed enough as it was. Ron picked up Harry and hoisted him a bit over his shoulder, trying to get him to walk, but Harry was completely out of it. He wasn’t unconscious, more completely overcome by the pain to the point he wasn’t responding at all. Hermione pulled her wand forth and levitated Harry, carrying him forth out of the common room just as the rest of Gryffindor decided they would also wake. She and Ron both heard the calls and questions from their house mates but refused to answer as she took Harry down to the hospital wing as fast as they could manage.

She and Ron were silent in their quest to guide their friend.

Madame Pomfrey was thankfully awake when they arrived, taking a midnight tea she was, and though she was anxious about Harry’s state she didn’t seem surprised either. In fact, the witch had a bed all laid out for Harry, headache potions and Dreamless Sleep already there in the cupboard next to it. Apparently, Harry had come by quite a bit with these skull-splitting headaches.

It worried her that Harry never said a word to them about it, though it seemed omissions of truth was becoming the cornerstone of her friendship with him lately.

Hermione sat by Harry’s beside until Madame Pomfrey had to move her and Ron by force. She felt herself sinking into the floor as she walked back to the common room, in total silence with Ron by her side. She didn’t know what rift had been made between them now, but she hoped it could be mended fast. She was terrified for Harry, petrified by what this could mean for him. She and Ron parted once they’d breached the portrait hole, sparing no words or lingering glances for one another as they trekked to their beds.

Hermione was more determined than ever to complete her mission with Severus. It had to work, all of it, else Harry really would be in danger.

And she could not bear to lose him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fairly long one today, had fun writing this.


	6. The Man with a Mask of My Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione tries her best to find a way to help the absent Snape out of time. Meanwhile, Headmaster Dumbledore has unwittingly upset the balance of everything.

They had been arguing in circles for twenty minutes, their tea service having already gone cold.

“You must understand, Severus, the boy is an open book. Last week he went to the Hospital Wing complaining of headaches emanating from his scar,” the Headmaster explained softly. “I understand your dislike for him, it cannot be easy considering…”

“Stop,” Severus demanded harshly. “There is no need to dig up cold graves… I can be manipulated with far less grim reminders, surely.”

“Severus,” Albus blinked, then smiled lightly. “Well, I suppose that dark humor is a good sign. It seems you have gotten over your spell damage quite well.”

“My what?” Severus set his teacup down with a clatter. “Spell damage?”

Albus nodded, almost to himself. “Yes, perhaps you don’t recall. It was sometime after a meeting with your Lord. You were quite delirious.”

“I…” It was possible. It wouldn’t have been the first time, but the idea that he’d had whole conversations while coming around from Cruciatus wasn’t a pleasant thought at all.

And that the Headmaster would use the term ‘spell-damaged’, it sent a shiver down his spine and had him clenching a hand in his robes. No, he did not wish to leave this earth a blithering fool.

“Please consider what I am saying, Severus. Harry’s mind is important, vital if you will…”

“Yes, vital, but shall he actually pay attention?” Severus sneered in reply. “Last year he was a miserable pupil, a busybody and an utter prat. Why can you not take up the task?”

Albus sighed, looking out the quickly darkening window with a slow blink to his wrinkled eyes.

“I have thought on this extensively, Severus. While I wish it were possible to teach him myself, there are too many issues that present themselves.” Albus then sat forward, collecting a lemon sherbet from the dish and popping it in his mouth. It made Severus smile a bit, a reminder of years past when the Headmaster kept pipe tobacco there instead of sweets.

Oh, how the years changed us all.

“I am not the Occlumens you are, Severus. My mind would be far too weak against an accidental intrusion… and there are many things I cannot bring myself to share with Harry. Not now,” Albus explained morosely from around his lemon sherbet. “And more pressing are the, well, excursions I have tasked myself with undertaking.” Albus turned to him and winked then, very peculiarly. “You understand, m’boy?”

Severus did not understand, he rarely understood what the Headmaster was getting to with his casual cripticisms. He quirked a brow, silently beckoning Albus to explain himself, but the doddering fool apparently considered that a yes and moved on.

“So, you see, I cannot take this on,” he said with an air of finality. There was to be no more argument on the subject. “You must teach Harry Occlumency, and he must learn.”

“I have no choice, then?” Severus frowned.

Albus shook his head with a smile. “No, I’m afraid not.”

“Then speak with him. Impress upon him the delicacy and importance of this ordeal. He must learn by the winter holiday else it will be for naught. I cannot be caught teaching him, let alone caught being in the same room with him alone.” Severus grimaced, turning his head away. “If even a single whiff of this gets back to the Dark Lord, I shall be dead before I have done you any good at all.”

“I shall, I shall,” Albus agreed easily. He then picked up his cup of tea and sipped it with a frown. “Oh dear, cold.”

Albus summoned a fresh pot of tea and poured himself a steaming cup, filling up Severus’ neglected cup as well.

“So, it is settled then.” Albus smiled. “Oh, and I meant to inquire… How is young Draco doing on his task to assassinate me? Any progress?”

The old man said it with such mirth as to make Severus’ hands falter as he reached for his cup of tea. He could not find the humor in it, however.

Severus knew very well the toll it was taking on the young Malfoy.

Draco was paranoid, secretive, and very clearly sleep-deprived. Twice now, Severus had tried to speak with him, but the boy’s mouth was shut on the matter. The impossible task he had been assigned was no better than a death sentence. Everyone knew that, even perhaps, the Headmaster.

But even with his students, Albus tended to be a bit cavalier with the harsh realities of their lives. From interhouse bullying to their sometimes bleak home lives, Albus saw it all as a backdrop to his aims.

Albus, while a caring man, tended to focus solely on the bottom line. Anything that did not affect it was… inconsequential.

“He is… keeping his cards close to the chest, as it were,” Severus replied coolly, looking down into his tea, the milky surface of which held no answers.

Severus had been prepared to share his suspicions with the Headmaster, that Draco was working with a partner, but increasingly it felt like an exercise in futility. Albus would not care for a useless bit of paranoia. He took a sip of his tea, grimacing at how dullened the taste was with dairy.

“Yes, well, inform me if I need to worry,” Albus chuckled sardonically.

Severus set his nearly full cup down, standing without preamble.

“I will endeavor to do so, Headmaster,” Severus replied as he straightened his waistcoat, attempting to keep the disdain from his voice as much as possible. “I have marking to do, and… preparations to make for my new pupil.”

“Ah, good. Have a nice evening, m’boy. I’ll send Harry down to you tomorrow after supper.”

Severus had already turned to leave the Headmaster’s office, the pleasant tone of Albus’ promise sounding nearly like a threat.

-

“I’m Sorry, Miss Granger, but he doesn’t wish to see you,” Madame Pomfrey explained softly, though it was clear she took at least some pleasure in keeping the ‘riffraff’ out of her Hospital Wing.

“Please, mam, I just need to speak with him,” Hermione pleaded. She fished out a bundle of parchment from her bag and brandished them. “I also have his schoolwork here.”

Madame Pomfrey took the bundle without being offered. “I will see to it that he completes it if he is able. He is very sickly lately, what with these headaches. He couldn’t possibly see anyone.” She looked particularly contrite until the doors to the Wing swung open, depositing Ronald on the other side and in their midst. The Madame then coughed, covering her mouth and perhaps her shame at being caught in a lie.

“Well, I… Must be attending… some…” Madame Pomfrey murmured uneasily, refusing to finish her rambled thought and instead went back inside the wing, leaving Ron and Hermione alone amidst the tension.

And Hermione didn’t know what to say. The implication was crystal clear: Harry didn’t want to see her.

Ron was the first to say anything at all, clearing his throat roughly and gazing at her with sympathy.

“I’m sorry, ‘Mione. Whatever has happened between you two… well, let’s just say it won’t be easily mended,” Ron offered apologetically. “Though I’m sure he’ll get over it. We three always make up, don’t we?”

“I hope you’re right, Ron…” Hermione frowned softly, trying not to look past him and at the door that separated her from Harry. She shook her head then, not at anything particular, just perhaps to dislodge the feeling of guilt and fear that was beginning to swell within her. No, she was doing the right thing, she must be.

The need to assure herself became overwhelming. She had to find Snape as soon as possible.

“You alright?” Ron asked kindly, leaning down and into her field of vision. His round features and lopsided smile did enough to assuage her guilt for a moment. Ron was such a good friend.

“Fine… I’m fine. Don’t worry about me, Ron. We’ll all figure this out,” Hermione replied, patting him on the shoulder. She then hefted her bag over her shoulder, desperate to relieve herself of the weight of it. “Well, I…”

“I have some… something to do,” Ron interrupted her, steering them both towards an awkward parting. Hermione smiled for it, glad for the opportunity.

“Me too,” Hermione told him, and they parted with no promise to meet for lunch, or dinner, or any other meal. Yes, perhaps she and her friends were drifting apart as of late, but it was a comfort to believe they weren’t distancing from one another in any way that counted.

~

The wall where the storeroom closet had once been was now bare stone, rough against her palm as Hermione dragged it across in frustration. Where the devil was he? He couldn’t just… Her heart leaped in her chest. He didn’t just disappear on her, could he have?

Hermione thought… she thought she’d been a help! Why in the world had she actually thought she could be of some help to that… insane, brusque man!

But she had… she had wanted to help him, and maybe she only wanted to be a help to him because of what that might signify. A great man like Severus Snape asking the Insufferable Know It All for assistance? It was enough to ease the sting of every comment she’d ever endured from the man, and still endured from her Professor of this time. Every sneer and joke and unnecessarily low grade. Hermione realized with a weakly contained sob that she needed to be a help to the Snape out of time, it was all that was keeping her going now. The war, the fear, the murders reported in the Prophet, it was all becoming too much to handle. Every morning over her breakfast she feared the news would report of her own parents’ home being burned by green fire, the dark mark above the neighborhood she’d spent her childhood in. And Hermione knew it was selfish to think of it in terms of her parents alone, Muggleborns all over Britain were being targeted, but she knew if she let herself feel deeply for them all she would fall to pieces and hardly be able to get herself together again.

“Oh, hell.” Hermione slapped the stone wall ineffectively. In a moment, her dejected posture straightened, and her limp hand became a fist.

“Well, sir, I’ll just have to help you on my own,” she whispered to the wall, eyes blazing with determination. Casting a Tempus, Hermione knew she had less than ten minutes before she was missed in her next class. She hurried along, resolved that she would figure out some way to help her enigmatic accomplice, even if his absence hurt her.

~

With Harry in the Hospital Wing, Hermione left the Common Room that evening with ease. No one asked after her habits, no one invited her into their groups. On the way out, she even spied Ron sitting very close with Lavender Brown. Hermione smiled to herself, pleased that he was over his… well, whatever feelings he believed he had for her. Everyone knew, in their right mind at least, that she and Ron were hardly suited.

Not like Hermione had time to think about those things at all right now.

Under Disillusionment, she made her way to the Room of Requirement, hoping to every deity she could think of that her plan would work. The room, used for DA meetings and a multitude of other wonderful things, was still completely baffling to her. It made a room perfect for your needs, and well, her needs at that moment were locating Severus Snape. It was a gamble, and a risky one at that, but Hermione could think of nothing else to try until the weekend. He’d left her no clues, no way to contact him, and so she must try to exploit every avenue she could. Using Harry’s map was out of the question, it was one of the first thing’s he’d had Ron bring to the Hospital Wing, and it was unreasonable to even consider asking to use it.

In the corridor where she knew the door for the Room to be located, Hermione paces, her ears tuned to the surrounding castle in case someone came upon her. Her concealment spells were good, but they weren’t great. If someone came upon her, they would likely find her, and she would be in a mess of trouble she couldn’t explain.

‘I need to find Headmaster Severus Snape, I need to find Headmaster Severus Snape, I need to find…’ These thoughts repeated through her head until Hermione swore her heels were wearing through her shoes and her head was spinning. Nothing was happening, the door wasn’t appearing at all. Her heart sank; the room couldn’t help her.

“You don’t understand,” Hermione whispered to the wall, her voice pained and raspy. She was sure tomorrow she would suffer from a sore throat from being up entirely too late. “I need to help him,” she entreated the empty hallway.

The door, familiar in its design and size, still shocked her whenever she saw it appear. It was like a blessing, bestowed by the castle itself. Hermione reverently opened the doors, preparing herself for what was inside. Would he be inside?

As her eyes adjusted, her trepidation and excitement at finding Severus Snape dampened. The room was, as she’d seen it so many times before, filled to the brim with rubbish.

“Why did you bring me here?” Hermione asked the room at large, kicking her toe gently against an old and deflated bludger. It rolled haphazardly, hitting the edge of a stack that instantly had the entire thing shaking, threatening to tumble.

“Oh, oh god” Hermione cried out as the tower of rubbish began to fall, straight for her. She tumbled, but not fast enough, as she was half-buried in old newsprint and vinyl records. The wind was knocked out of her as she fell to the floor, and once the rumbling from the falling stack cleared into silence, Hermione heard a distinct tink of metal hitting the stone floor. Beside her, something beautiful and expensive was rolling towards her, likely fallen from the very top of the stack. Hermione caught it, gasping for breath as she both struggled free from the wreckage of the room and took in the precious stones inlaid in the object.

Now in her hands, the shimmering crown felt cold and horrible. Hermione quickly grabbed an old scarf and wrapped it up, holding its weight in her palms as she considered her fate. Was this… was this something she could use to help him? Lord, she hoped so, else this entire evening was a waste of time. She’d just have to see what he said... if she ever saw him again.

-

Bright and early on Wednesday morning, Harry left the Hospital Wing under orders of the Headmaster, and though Madame Pomfrey was incensed, it did Harry some good to escape that hospital bed that had become so familiar to him. He considered rejoining his classes for the day, as he perhaps should, the wad of assignments crinkling in his bag a reminder of that, but he simply couldn’t. Couldn’t trade one prison for another. Especially not with the knowledge of where he was to go tonight.

Snape’s office… Occlumency lessons again. Was it a cruel joke on the Headmaster’s part that he would endlessly subject Harry to these ‘lessons’ with the Great Git? Or perhaps Snape had wheedled it out of the Headmaster as a means of further injuring Harry, having to stare at the face of the man who was meddling with his best friend. Headaches be damned, he wouldn’t go. He couldn’t stomach it. He couldn’t look at that man, or else he might snap.

Through the halls, careful to keep himself concealed, Harry was sure he’d make it to the Common Room before anyone noticed him walking around during lessons. He took every out of the way corridor, every passage that avoided stepping before classrooms.

It was in one of these corridors, as the early morning sun cast hues of gold through the windows, that he heard sniffling. Harry stopped, peeking around a pillar to see his old friend wiping her eyes as she paced. What was Hermione doing out of class? And… Harry’s heart broke a bit as he saw her face, red and blotchy from upset. She always did rub her eyes too much when she cried. He waited for the anger to come forth, the resentment for her secrecy, but it never came. He couldn’t feel that way about her when she was clearly so upset about something. Had… had that git… well, Harry hesitated to think it, but had Snape broke it off? The bastard should hang for touching his friend, but that didn’t mean he relished the idea of Hermione being left with a broken heart, even if it was among the most monumentally stupid things he could imagine her doing. It wasn’t her fault though, could it be? A student, always eager to please, messed around with by a teacher… no, it wasn’t Hermione’s fault.

Resolved, Harry went to move towards his friend, to comfort her like he ought to. What she needed right now was a shoulder to cry on, an understanding ear to listen to her sorrows. After she’d calmed down, they could go to the Headmaster and reveal Snape as the bastard he was.

Harry hadn’t taken but one step before he hid behind the pillar again, his heart thrumming in his ears as he saw the figure immerge from the shadow behind Hermione. Hermione startled, then turned towards the sudden appearance of Snape, and Harry’s worst fears were reconfirmed. She smiled at his appearance, as she wiped her face on her robes.

“Sir!” Harry vaguely heard her call to the man, her voice full of hopeful desperation. No other words could be heard, save a buzzing in the air that signified their speech was being concealed. It made Harry’s skin crawl to think of what the git might be saying to her, what words he used that could not be heard by any other. Was he sweet-talking her back into his good graces? Smoothing over some upset he’d caused Hermione? Whatever it was, Hermione was glad to hear it. She presented him with some kind of gift, a little thing the size of a bowl wrapped in fabric towards the dark professor.

As soon as Snape saw whatever it was hidden within the cloth, he reached out a pale hand and grabbed Hermione, pulling her suddenly against him. Harry swore, and turned fully around the pillar to finally confront them. There was no way he would stand idly by and watch as that bastard touched his friend. By the time his feet took him to the corner where the two had been, however, he found nothing. No evidence of either of them existed, just a smooth stone wall between the pillars.

“Shit!” Harry swore quietly, kicking at the wall. “Shit.”

His mind was made up right then, completely off course from his previous decision. He would go to his Occlumency lessons that evening, and he would confront Snape about what he’d been doing to Hermione.

He couldn’t let this go on!

-

Potter rolled into his lesson on time, which irked Severus greatly. At the very least, he wanted to take points off to begin the lesson. Either way, he’d packed up his pensive and all his memories long ago, moving them to a safer location within his rooms. Never had he anticipated his office would be taken up for this insufferable boy’s training, but Severus had long ago realized it was best to do as his two masters bid him and react later, in the safety and privacy of his chambers.

“Sit,” he instructed the boy, pointing towards the chair before his desk. Potter said nothing, simply pinning him with an irreverent look that made Severus want to shout. But did that boy look just exactly as his father did, and though Severus wished to unleash his malice, he would refrain. Albus had stressed how important this was, vital, and so he must play along.

“It seems you are back again, like the prodigal son,” Severus scowled, tapping his finger against the tabletop of his desk. “The Headmaster has informed me that should attempt to be softer with you, to coddle you like you are some child incapable of…”

“Don’t,” Potter cut out tensely.

“What was that?” Severus inquired, his eyebrow arching.

“Just… let’s get on with this,” Potter explained anxiously, his gaze never breaking. It was a challenge. Fine, then, if the boy wanted a repeat of before, then he would get it.

“Legilimens,” was his instant reply, his wand pointed at the boy from below the desk. He pushed into the boy’s mind, expecting some sort of resistance, but he felt none, only the natural barriers build up in one’s mind from time. He felt the boy’s running thoughts, bastard, slimy git, no surprise there.

“Push me out, Potter!” he sneered, but the boy was either having an immense bit of trouble, or he wasn’t trying at all. Potter’s mind was a jumbled mess of rage and confusion. The anger was almost polluting, sweltering and thick as Severus pushed through the boy’s mind. Perhaps this was Potter’s attempt, paltry as it was, anger wasn’t the most unusual defense although it tended to be the weakest. If hatred were a strong mode of Occlusion, no one would ever be susceptible to the Dark Lord’s intrusions.

Easily enough, Severus pushed forth through the dense fog of Potter’s loathing and stepped fully into the boy’s recollection. A memory was already being played out, the edges of it dripping with disdain the likes he would have never believed the boy capable of.

He saw himself, half-hidden within a shadow as he strode along a lonely corridor with the Granger girl. Potter was trailing behind the unlikely pair, hiding behind a pillar as he watched the scene unfold.

That certainly looked like himself, but he knew with the utmost surety that it could not be.

The man, a striking image of himself, was accepting a small favor from the girl with a bored expression on his face. He peeled back the wrapping to reveal, well, Potter’s angle couldn’t make it out, but whatever was concealed within the cloth was clearly of some value to them both. He saw a smile, wide and strange on his doppelganger’s face, before the man grabbed Miss Granger by the hand and pulled her close. The both of them fell backwards into the shadowed alcove, and when Potter finally moved over to investigate, they were gone.

“What was that she gave you, huh? A token of her affection?” Potter snarled suddenly, leaning forward in his chair with an air of wild menace as the boy’s mindscape dissipated. Severus could hardly maintain the spell; he was instantly on edge.

“What in the world was that memory, Potter?” Severus demanded, standing swiftly and rounding the desk. He gripped the boy by the arms, ignoring his protests. “Tell me!”

“You know! Don’t pretend, you slimy git, you bloody well know!” Potter seethed, attempting to wriggle free of Severus’ panicked iron grip.

“I do not, Potter, I can assure you,” Severus intoned. “I am beginning to suspect you are delusional.”

“Look again then, bastard, see all the times I’ve caught you with her!”

Suddenly panicking, Severus did as he was bid. Silently, he plunged back into Potter’s mind, the entry clear of all obstacles as the boy practically pushed him towards the memories in question.

From a window, he spied them together, arms linked as they entered the Forbidden Forest.

Faces close as they spoke lowly in dark alcoves.

Time after time, finding their names nearly atop one another’s on his enchanted map.

“Potter,” Severus spoke gravely, his voice a mere whisper as the fear nearly choked him silent. “I know not what is happening, but that man is not me.”

Potter again struggled, his eyes wide and full of fury. “The map doesn’t lie, Snape!”

Severus shook Harry forcibly, panic consuming him, building in every far reach of his body and mind. “It must lie, it must!” His carefully constructed walls and protections were faltering, he could feel the fear on his face, and the boy’s reaction confirmed it.

“Snape…” Potter uttered gravely, but Severus could not listen.

Someone had infiltrated the castle, and that someone was wearing his face.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this is a work in progress that I am absolutely loving writing. Let me know your thoughts in the comments and look forward to the next chapter!


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